


Baggage & Board Games

by Buckysaur



Series: B&B Verse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Arguing, Asexual Character, Asexual Sam Wilson, Awesome Sam Wilson, Banter, Battleship (Board Game), Board Games, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Barnes-centric, Card Games, Companionable Snark, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Gets A Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Go Fish, Humor, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Love/Hate, M/M, Male Bonding, Male Friendship, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Sam Wilson, Protective Steve Rogers, Rating May Change, Romantic Comedy, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Sorry! (Board Game), Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6857503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckysaur/pseuds/Buckysaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody deserves to be locked in cryo. At least <i>Sam</i> thinks so. That's why he decides to wake Bucky up to play board games. Soon, they're not just playing games, but helping each other wade through their baggage. There is a lot of it, but they've got nothing if not time for each other.</p><p>In which Sam Wilson starts a B&B for superheroes. Number of guests: 1.</p><p>Set a few months after Civil War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Go Fish

**Author's Note:**

> **SPOILERS FOR CIVIL WAR**
> 
> M rated content can be skipped.
> 
> Constructive criticism is very welcome! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I had this idea that Sam would occasionally wake Bucky up to play actual, literal games with him. This is that story.

The first time it happens, Bucky doesn’t know what to think.

He awakes with a gasp, his chest heaving as his brain tries to make sense of his surroundings. It takes him a moment to remember he’d gone into cryo on his own volition this time – the floor-to-ceiling windows and sterile white walls first throwing him off, then clueing him in. Blearily, he turns his head, looking for the familiar blue eyes of his best friend. He doesn’t find them. Instead, it is Sam Wilson, the Falcon, who stands next to his pod.

“Good morning Buckinator, I figured you might have been getting bored in that little freezer of yours.”

Bucky groans and reaches up to undo the buckles over his chest. Nothing happens. He blinks and then stares down.

Oh. Right. His arm is gone.

Gritting his teeth, he repeats the motion with his actually  _existing_ right arm, and undoes the white straps. “How long was I out for?”

“A few months. Cap refused to let me wake you, insisted you’d want a cure. You know how he is, wouldn’t want to disappoint ya.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow as he staggers out of the cryo pod. “’S that so? And how about you? Tired of disappointing the broads, so you’re moving on to the fellas?”

Sam reaches out to steady him and guides him to a set of white chairs. Bucky tries to shrug him off, but is still sluggish from waking up, so his efforts are unsuccessful. Grumpily, he lets Sam sit him down.

“Trust me, I’m no disappointment. I just don’t like the thought of my friends being frozen.”

Bucky shoots him a hard-to-read look. “Are we friends?”

Sam shrugs and sits down opposite Bucky, his legs comfortably sprawled halfway across the floor into Bucky’s personal space. Bucky nudges his feet to the side with his toe.

“That depends.” Sam grins, and holds up a deck of cards. “Wanna play a game?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, come on, that’s the  _fourth_  set of three you’ve stolen! No way you’re playing fair.”

“You wound me. I was a boy scout, you know? You were an assassin. I think that lends me more street cred than you. Fives.”

“Go fish, and  _drown_. I’m pretty sure assassin beats boy scout in street cred.”

“Street cred in  _cheating_ , that’s for sure. I’m not cheating.”

“I used to play this game with Steve, I know what cheating looks like. Eights.”

“Here you go, one card for James Bourne. Captain America cheats?”

“Of course Captain America cheats. Have you  _seen_  him around a Monopoly board? He’s watching everyone to see when they’re looking away so he can snatch more money from the bank. Who’s James Bourne?”

“Jason Bourne, actually. Just a guy who reminds me of you. Are you gonna ask for another card or what?”

“Twos.”

“Go fish.”

“I hate you… Ha! It’s a two! I’ve got a set.”

“That makes five points for the Amazing Falcon, and…  _two_  points for Sucky.”

“Sincerely  _do_  drown the next time you go out fishing.”

“Really though, you let Steve get away with cheating? Queens.”

“Here are your fucking queens…  Gimme a four. You saw pictures of him from before, right? Guy deserved a win once in a while, and it certainly wasn’t gonna be in an alley fight.”

“And another point to the Falcon. And go fish. Bucky Barnes still losing by… oh, four points! Good news, Buckaroo, if you get  _every single remaining suit_ , you can still win. Unless you can hand me an ace.“

“I swear, you’re cheating. I don’t know how, but you’re cheating. Here’s your ace, you cheating cheat.”

“Ha! My seventh set! Victory! And, uh, Bucky…”

“What?”

“Next time you might want to cover any reflective surfaces on your person before playing a card game.”

“...”

“Just some friendly advice.”

“You’re cheating through my  _prosthetic limb?_  That’s low, Wilson, real low.”

“Aaahh! Security! Freeze this maniac!”

“Yeah, you better run.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Sam was joking at the end. He didn't _actually_ maliciously refreeze Bucky.
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed this! What other games should the boys play?


	2. Sorry!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Sam play another game. They also have a frank discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sort of spiralled out of control with **three times** the word count of chapter one. Oops.

The second time it happens, he still searches the room for Steve, but is less surprised to find Sam by his side instead. Groaning, he reaches up to undo his straps. He’s painfully conscious of the fact that he has to use his right arm to do so. His left side feels uncomfortably weightless.

“You know I’m in here for a reason, right? I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Sam shoots him a grin, showing off his perfect white teeth. He’s holding up a box with the word ‘Sorry!’ on it.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Scratch that, I _definitely_ want to hurt someone now.”

“Come on, it can’t be fun in there.” Sam holds out his hand to help Bucky out of his pod, which Bucky steadfastly ignores, gripping on to the side of it to push himself out instead.

“I’m not actually _aware_ I’m ‘in there,’ you know,” Bucky retorts dryly as he works his way onto his feet. He sways for a moment, then somewhat finds his bearings and makes his way over to the white chairs they’d sat in before. This time, there’s also a white table in between them. “It’s like sleeping.”

“Yeah? D’ya dream?” Sam follows him to the table at a leisurely pace, not seeming to notice Bucky’s difficulty walking in a straight line, but instead looking out over the jungle through the large windows.

Like last time, they’re completely alone in the room. Sam is either completely insane, or he actually trusts Bucky not to snap his neck. Likely both are true.

Bucky shrugs. “It’s not—“ He breaks out into a coughing fit. For the first time he notices how dry his throat is. It feels like he’s been force-fed a desert while he was out. Now that he thinks of it, he can’t even remember the last time he ate. Days ago? Months ago? How long has it been since the first time Sam woke him up? It’s literally _yesterday_ to him.

Sam holds out a bottle of water he’s gotten seemingly from nowhere, an inquiring look on his face. Trying not to appear too grateful – he’s not a damn pet needing to be offered food anymore – Bucky takes it and gulps it down in its entirety. “Any chance that comes with anythin’ solid?” He holds up the now empty bottle and gives it a questioning shake.

“Can’t exactly order pizza in the Wakandan jungle.”

“Hilarious. If you insist on waking me up to play stupid games, you might as well make it worth my time.”

The smile Sam shoots him has a tender quality to it that Bucky doesn’t quite know what to do with. He simply glares in return, and keeps his glare up until Sam’s gotten his phone out of his pocket and texted someone, hopefully with a request for food, if he wants to live.

Bucky stares out of the window while they wait. He’s not uncomfortable with the silence. He has sure as hell learned not to run his mouth and possibly reveal weaknesses that can be exploited.

After a few minutes, however, when Sam has started setting up the board game, he grows bored with it. He flicks his eyes back to the man before him. “Does Steve know you’re doing this?”

“He didn’t before, but I told him after last time. Hard to keep secrets from the guy.”

Bucky snorts. “You’re just not tryin’ hard enough. He’s very gullible.”

Sam raises a sceptical eyebrow. “He doesn’t strike me as the gullible type. What colour do you want to be?”

“He is when you’re his best friend.” Bucky’s eyes are piercing, boring into Sam’s soul, and he hopes the man can feel it. It’s a heavy burden being Steve Rogers’ best friend. Bucky will kill anyone who messes it up and hurts Steve. Nevertheless, despite the threatening front he’s trying to put up, he can’t help but feel like he somehow inherently trusts Sam with the responsibility. There’s just… _something_ about him. Something that makes him trust the man, but simultaneously makes him weary. “I wanna be red.”

“No _way_ you’re red. I’m red.”

“I was red before you were even born.”

“I’ve seen your outfit, your jacket was _blue_.”

“And now I’m red.” Bucky holds out a demanding hand, palm up.

Sam ignores him and starts to put the red pawns down onto the board. “Pick another colour.”

Bucky huffs and grabs the four yellow pawns out of the box. He starts to group them neatly in a square at the centre of their designated circle. It’s a bit of a struggle; as much as he is ambidextrous, he’s gotten used to performing precision tasks with his left hand.

Sam folds his hands on the table after setting up his own pawns. Bucky instinctively looks to check if they’re empty. Sam exhales softly. “You _can_ trust me with Steve, you know.”

“Never said I didn’t.” Satisfied with his pawns on the board (except for their colour, perhaps), Bucky grabs the two dice in his hand and rolls. “Five.”

“Seven, means it’s my turn first.”

“I know how the game works.”

Sam shoots him a shit-eating grin. “Just trying to communicate.”

Bucky flips him his middle finger.

They play in silence for a while, which is an odd change from last time, but interesting nonetheless. Even though Sam is technically silent, his body language is intriguing. He doesn’t seem to be afraid of Bucky at all. It makes him somewhat nervous.

After three uneventful turns, a woman who Bucky recognises as one of the doctors who’d helped put him down two days ago – months ago – enters the room with a tray of food.

Even though Bucky had entrusted her and her colleagues with his life just hours earlier (from his perspective, anyway), he has trouble actually politely thanking her for the food. Luckily she leaves quickly, albeit not after requesting to take his vitals. She doesn’t push the point when he refuses, thankfully.

“Does he know you’re here right now?” Bucky asks after he swallows the first bite of the sandwich he’d been given. He doesn’t need to say the name for Sam to understand.

“Here, yes. Playing board games with you… no.” Sam rolls the dice and captures one of Bucky’s pawns. Bucky scowls and grabs the dice again. “He’s out on a mission in South America. Off the books, of course. Stark still isn’t playing ball on _that_ court.”

“You didn’t let him go alone, did you?”

“Oh _hell_ no, he’s got people watching his back. Just not me this time.”

“He kick you off the team?” Bucky asks it casually, and he can see Sam startle across the table. His hands momentarily freeze, the dice clanking together in his grip, then he relaxes again and lets them roll onto the table. Interesting.

“No.”

“But you had an argument,” Bucky continues ruthlessly, his face perfectly blank when he looks up at Sam. Sam’s expression is somewhere between anger and pain. _Very_ interesting. “You had an argument about _me_.”

“You sure are perceptive.” Sam tilts his chin up. It’s a challenge.

Bucky shrugs and takes a big bite of his sandwich, leaning back in his chair in a picture of comfort. “Spy,” he says as clarification, and lazily rolls the dice. It’s a double six, so he’s immediately able to put his lost pawn back and make up for the damage Sam did to him in the last turn. Grinning, he rolls the dice again, and advances his other pawn on the board as well.

“He’s been trying to get you a cure, you know. He just doesn’t think you should be woken up before he does, otherwise he would have been here with me.”

“And you disagree?”

Sam rolls the dice again and takes his rear pawn a few steps forward. “I sure don’t agree with you punishing yourself for what was done to you.”

“For what I _did_.”

“You know as well as I do that you had no choice. Better, even.”

Bucky grits his teeth and straightens in his chair again. When he rolls the dice and picks up his pawn, the yellow plastic squeaks dangerously in his barely controlled grip. “And I would do it all over again if anyone got hold of the information in that notebook.”

“You also know Steve took care of that.”

“And _you_ should know better than to think that kind of information can be destroyed,” Bucky snaps. “Someone will find it again, and they’ll set me up against my friends. _Again_.” He overtakes Sam’s front pawn and sets it back down in the start circle, hard. “I’m tired of hurting the people I care about.”

Sam stares down at the board. “Alright. If you don’t want me to take you out again, I won’t.” His voice is soft. “I’m sorry if I was wrong in assuming otherwise.”

Bucky swallows. It’s the offer he’s been angling for, but now that it’s on the table, he just feels tired and alone. He stares out of the tall windows and takes an angry bite from his sandwich, chewing slowly to keep his mouth occupied and stop himself from saying anything stupid.

“Bucky.” Sam’s chair creaks, and from the sound Bucky knows the other is leaning onto the table, probably trying to catch his gaze. His eyes flit sideways for a moment to check if he’s right, then dart away again when he’s got his confirmation. Sam has a nauseatingly concerned look on his face. Seems like Steve has been rubbing off on him.

Bucky’s chest feels tight. He wants to go back into the cryo pod and disappear until Hydra and all the shit they brought into the world does too. He wants to stay in this beautiful, calm room and play stupid games with Sam and stop worrying.

He doesn’t know which he wants more.

“I just can’t trust to set myself loose on the world. It’s not safe.”

“Then don’t. Baby steps. At least stop hiding in the jungle and trust yourself to be around your _friends_.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh, and looks at Sam. “Oh, so we’re friends now?”

Sam grins, but there’s something sad in his eyes that’s in the way of them grinning too. “I hope we’re friends.”

Bucky shakes his head lightly, but it’s not in disagreement. Exasperation, more like. He slides the dice across the table towards Sam. “Let’s finish the game.” He hesitates. “Put me back in, after. We can talk about the rest another time.”

 

* * *

 

 

After twenty gruelling minutes of dice-rolling and under-the-table kicking, Bucky wins the game. Sam swears up and down that he somehow cheated. Bucky denies it to the very last minute, stepping into his cryo pod with a smug grin on his face.

“Sorry, not sorry.”

“Keep going like that. See if I defrost your ass next time.”

Bucky smirks. “And here I thought we were friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know if you liked this, and what it was that you liked! :D
> 
> Also, suggestions for games are very welcome.


	3. Battleship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's come to play a new game with Bucky. This one is red, white, and blue. Before they get started, however, they have another serious conversation, wherein Sam learns more about Bucky's feelings than he's prepared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There seems to be an ongoing trend with this story where each chapter is twice the length of the one before it... Not that you all will probably mind ;)
> 
> Slight warning: please note the added 'Angst' tag to this fic. This chapter is on a _way_ different angst level than the previous ones. It's not terribly dark, but definitely a different tone than before.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy this chapter! The boys are really going somewhere this time.

The third time he wakes up, Bucky still has a ghost of a smile on his face. When his vision clears, he sees Sam standing next to his pod. The room is flooded with warm rays of orange and pink light streaming in through the windows on the west side. It must be close to dusk. The colours have an interesting effect on Sam’s skin, making every part they hit look softer and warmer. The way Sam is standing there, looking at him, is strangely reminiscent of when Steve woke him up and saved him, all those years ago. Bucky’s smile widens into a dopey grin. He clears his throat and then licks his dry lips. “Hey there. Nice to see you again, pal.”

“Nice to see you too…?” Sam’s voice is questioning, and there’s a slight frown on his face, making it clear that he’s not catching on.

“Pal. Buddy. Brother in arms. _Friend_ ,” Bucky lists as he undoes his straps and steps out of his pod. He carefully stretches his cold limbs as he waits for Sam to get the hint. When that doesn't happen, he rolls his eyes. “Come on, it can't have been that long since you put me in there. Not unless you got a haircut.”

Sam’s eyes widen, and then he doubles over laughing. “Oh man, that was two weeks ago! Can't blame a guy for forgetting.”

Bucky shakes his head, chuckling, and pats Sam’s shoulder. “You're a goddamn tragedy, Sam.”

Bucky lets his hand drop when Sam looks up at him, sniggering. “I see we’ll need to reacquaint you with mirrors, bud, cause if you’re not the poster boy for tragedy, I don't know who is.”

“Ain't that the truth,” Bucky says with a smile, not seeing the point in arguing. He walks past past Sam to the table. He’s curious to see what game he has brought this time. There are two dark blue plastic boards set up, folded in half with one side flat on the table and one side sticking up from the back. Each one has two grids of small holes and a collection of red and white pins in compartments to the side. He eyes them half-curiously, half-suspiciously. This is the first game he doesn’t recognise _at all_. “What are these?”

“Oh, you wanna get right into it?” Sam trots after him and settles into his chair across from him. Bucky also sits down. “It’s Battleship,” Sam explains. “I did some research into games you might know, and Wikipedia says it existed back in your day too. I was hoping it’d be familiar.”

Bucky's eyes widen when the gears in his head click in place and he recognises the updated 21st century version of the familiar game. A soft grin spreads on his face, one that reaches all the way to the crinkles around his eyes. He eyes the board almost tenderly as he reaches out to stroke the grid with his fingertips. “Yeah, I do. Steve and I used to play it with pen and paper when he was sick. He'd get bored out of his mind layin’ in bed all day, so when I got back from work I'd visit him and play until he fell asleep.”

He looks up at Sam, still smiling as the memories flood his brain. “Later, in the war, we made an attempt to play it in our heads, calling out the grid positions while we marched across Europe. Steve always cheated, of course, so we reverted back to pen and paper after about two tries. Played word games while we walked instead.” Bucky falls silent as he studies the board, lost in his thoughts. He wonders if Sam has played this new version of Battleship with Steve too – then again, last he heard, Sam and Steve were fighting.

“Look at you, being all sentimental.” Sam's eyes are almost twinkling across the table, and while there's a teasing undertone in his voice, his expression screams endearment. It makes Bucky’s chest ache. He leans back in his chair and crosses his one arm over his chest, holding on to his side with an iron grip.

“Yeah, well… Going under will do that to a guy.” He doesn't know why he says it. He doesn't even really _want_ to have this conversation. He just wants to naively enjoy the games for as long as he can, and not think about what’s happened to him – what is _still_ happening to him.

But Sam is an easy guy to open up to, and they've been talking for _hours_ now. The playful banter had been fun, but he knows he can't keep that exterior up forever. Not when he's starting to see Sam as familiar – trustworthy. Not when he's getting tired of going under and coming up only to go back under again and again. He can feel himself start to fray at the edges of his mind.

Sam leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about that. Last time I suggested you stay out to spend time with me and Steve. You said we'd talk about it next time, so… have you thought about it?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “When? In the five minutes since I told you that? In case you didn't realise: I don’t exactly spend my time in cryo _thinking_. For all I know, we were playing _Sorry!_ half an hour ago.” It's not completely true. He's thought about it – it's the only thing he _can_ think about every time he goes in – he's just not had enough time to really weigh his options.

Sam’s head jerks up and he gives Bucky a sharp look. “You're shitting me.” Bucky shakes his head, his jaw clenched painfully tightly. Sam’s eyes look like something inside of them is breaking. He leans back, his shoulders slumping, and rubs a hand over his hair. “Fuck. I'm sorry, man. I'm an idiot.”

“You didn't know,” Bucky says hoarsely, avoiding eye contact. He’s the last person to blame someone for something they were unaware they were doing.

“No, but I _should've_. Damn, Bucky. And I've been bothering you with stupid games, for, what, the last _day_ you've been conscious?”

“Don't pity me, Sam.” Bucky's voice is dangerous. “I told Steve to put me in there. If I really didn’t want to be taken out, I would have told you to refreeze me and _leave me_ the second you first woke me up.”

Sam shakes his head, still slumped back in his chair. “Why didn't you?”

Bucky stares him down. “Do you really want to know?” His voice is clipped, sharp. It's a warning.

Sam doesn't respond immediately, and Bucky is glad for it. At least the man is thinking about whether or not he wants to open that particular can of worms. It still takes him by surprise, however, when Sam answers with a resolute, “Yes.”

Bucky does a sharp intake of breath. His eyes dart away to the cryo pod by the window where they linger for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed into a pained expression. “Because,” he starts after a long silence, “every time I go under, I wonder how much time will have passed the next time I wake up. Who'll be alive, who'll be dead. Who I might be told to kill. Every time I go under I'm fully aware that, next time, disaster could have happened, and I might see Hydra again when I open my eyes.” At the other side of the table, Sam is holding his breath. He's gone so still, in fact, that Bucky feels the need to check whether his heart is still beating.

He turns away from the cryo pod to shoot Sam a wry smile. “It's kinda nice to go under trusting there's a high chance none of that will happen, because I know I'll probably see _you_.”

Sam grimaces and shifts uncomfortably. “That sounds very… Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Translation for those of us who missed most of the 20th century?” Bucky asks, squinting at Sam.

“Oh, ehm…” Sam looks sheepish. “It's a psychological term. It's when someone in… captivity – like a hostage – develops feelings of sympathy or empathy for their captor.”

Bucky goes rigid. An unpleasant shiver rolls down his spine, ending in his stomach where it makes him feel immediately nauseous. He actively recoils, pushing his chair back from the table. It makes an distressing screeching noise as the legs drag across the polished floor. “No,” is all he can say. “No.”

Sam leans forward in alarm, his eyes wide. “Bucky? What did I say?”

Bucky swallows and shakes his head. “I'm not being held captive,” he spits out through gritted teeth. “I'm here because I want to be. I can _leave_. If I want to, I—” He shakes his head more violently. His fingers, still flat against his side, press hard into his ribs until they ache. “I can leave.” His heart is pounding in his chest. He doesn't know what's happening. They were just playing games; he was starting to _like_ Sam. He doesn't— he _can't_ —

“Bucky.” Sam’s flat hand is on the table between them, reaching to him and drawing Bucky out of his head and back into his surroundings. He realises he’s panting with the effort to keep calm. He stares up at Sam. Sam’s eyes are soft and friendly, but also serious. “You can leave. I swear. _On my life_.” Bucky nods meekly. “Anytime,” Sam promises, “you just have to say the word.” His voice is clear, and Bucky finds himself hanging onto every word Sam utters, clinging onto the truth he wants to hear in them. “You’re free. As long as you’re in this country, you’re free.”

Bucky clenches his jaw; clenches his hand; clenches his eyes shut tightly. Then, all at once, he lets the tension go. He doesn’t want to do this now, when they were having such a good time. “Yeah— Yeah. Okay.” He slowly moves his arm away from where it had been wrapped around his chest and rolls his shoulder, trying to relax. He has a lot to think about, still, but he’s once again more certain of where he’s standing. It’s a comforting knowledge to have. He takes a deep breath to collect himself, and then shoots Sam a small smile. “Can we play the game, now? I was actually looking forward to beating you again.”

Sam holds his gaze for a little while longer, searching, but Bucky doesn’t let him in, instead keeping his expression neutral. After a few seconds, Sam concedes with a nod. He pulls back his hand from the table and sits up straight again. “Alright… but don’t think I’m going to go easy on you just because of the sob story.” He winks. “I happen to have fifteen years experience playing this with my annoying little sister.”

“That’s nice.” Bucky grins and winks right back. “I have ten years experience playing this with Captain America.”

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, neither of them have hit any the other person’s boats yet. Tensions are rising, and Bucky isn’t sure whether he wants to burst out in laughter or smack Sam across the head. Judging by Sam’s rather constipated expression, he’s got the same dilemma.

“E6.”

Bucky stealthily moves the boat Sam would have hit a square to the left, and sticks a white pin on the grid. “Miss. C4.”

Sam is silent for a moment, then picks up a white pin as well. “Miss. E8.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. Sam raises one right back. “Miss,” Bucky says again, placing another white pin on his board.

Sam groans. “Okay, Bucky, it is statistically impossible that neither of us has hit a ship after _thirty_ goes!”

“In my defense, that one was actually a miss.”

“Yeah. _That_ one.” Sam is glowering from across the table. Something about the half-joy, half-annoyance on his face makes Bucky’s insides tingle with glee.

“Says the guy who _also_ hasn’t been hit over the last thirty goes.”

“I thought you played Battleship with Steve?! How did you play it for _ten_ years as you claim, if you both cheated like this?”

Bucky rolls his shoulder and leans back into his chair. He’s feeling relaxed now, all the nervous energy from before parked in the back of his mind where he can ignore it for the time being. He shoots Sam a cheeky grin. “It’s much harder to cheat on paper. Even with a pencil, it kinda draws attention when you start erasing and moving your boats. This? Child’s play. I don’t see how they can even sell this stuff as a working game.”

Sam huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s the dictionary definition of portraying annoyance, but Bucky can see it’s mostly pretend. He’s glad it is, or he wouldn’t continue teasing Sam like he is. “They can sell it because _most people_ at least _try_ to play fair.”

Bucky playfully nudges Sam’s feet underneath the table. “You started this, you know. Cheating at cards through my _prosthetic shoulder_. I’m an elderly citizen – a World War II _veteran_ , you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Sam leans his folded arms onto the table, grinning. “Oh yeah? You don’t look so elderly to me, punk.”

“I work out,” Bucky deadpans.

When Sam doesn’t immediately respond, Bucky eyes him questioningly. Sam is biting his lip, his eyes dark and unreadable. Something about the way he’s looking at him makes Bucky’s mouth go dry. Suddenly, he wishes he’d asked for water after waking.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Sam says after a long pause, moving his eyes down to look at his board again. He’s blinking rapidly, as if he’s disoriented. Bucky can somewhat sympathise; he feels like the world is spinning around them.

“Um…”

“Let’s just quit this while we’re ahead, shall we?” Sam suggests then, clapping his Battleship board shut. “Maybe next time we can try with pen and paper.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t even really understand what just happened. (Doesn’t want to admit, even to himself, that maybe he _does_.) “Yeah, next time. That sounds good.” He shuts his own board, too, and slides it into its box when Sam holds it up. He watches Sam’s hands as he closes the box, pushing the cardboard flaps in place, careful not to tear them.

Sam stands up to set the box aside on a collection of shelves Bucky hadn’t noticed before. He spots the deck of cards and _Sorry!_ box on one of them, too. He follows Sam to the wall, wondering why he’s put the games here. Wondering if there’ll be more games on the shelves soon. He finds he likes the thought of it, but is reluctant to explore the idea further.

“Do you want to go back in?” Sam asks hesitantly after he’s slid the Battleship box underneath the others. He’s leaning back against the wall next to the shelves, thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans.

Bucky shivers involuntarily upon hearing those words, and quickly shakes his head. “No. Not right now.” He keeps his eyes trained on the boxes. For some reason, it’s easier to think that way than when he looks at Sam.

They are both silent for a moment. Bucky continues to stare at the boxes. Sam continues to look at him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sam asks eventually. It doesn’t sound demanding, not even annoying in the way Bucky would expect the words to be.

“About what?” He turns his eyes to Sam, keeping his gaze sharp.

Sam shrugs. “Whatever’s going on in that super soldier head of yours. I know I’m just a mere mortal, but I can listen.”

Bucky licks his lips while he considers. At first he’s preparing to say no, but then he rethinks his answer. “How’s Steve?” he asks in the end, surprising even himself.

Sam shifts uncomfortably on his feet. Bucky watches with interest as he purses his lips into a thin line. “Still in South America.”

“I take it he doesn’t know you’ve woken me up again,” Bucky concludes neutrally.

“Oh, I’ll tell him,” Sam says with a sigh. “But… no. He doesn’t yet. Not since the first time.” He tilts his head to the side for a second, raising an eyebrow meaningfully. “He’s made it _very_ clear he disapproves of this.”

Bucky chuckles. He can’t help but smile at Sam. “And yet here we are again.”

“Steve’s not the only stubborn one,” Sam says easily, returning Bucky’s smile. “Like I said: I don’t like the thought of you being in there. So as long as you’ll let me… I’d like to give you some actual human contact once in awhile.”

Bucky’s happy expression wavers. In an attempt to collect his thoughts, he turns away and walks towards the windows. Over the last hour, the sky has gone from hot pink to deep purple. Stunning streaks of lilac stretch over the jungle, casting the otherwise bright green trees under a darker blue shadow. He stands still with his forehead just inches away from the cool glass, looking out over the endless forest.

As he surveys the outside world, he tries to survey his mind too. He needs to gauge just how much he can trust himself. After a moment, he sighs. “I can’t go back out into the world, Sam. The things I did… I’d do them again without hesitation if Hydra got hold of me.”

He hears Sam step closer to him, sees his reflection close in on him in the glass. Through it, their eyes meet. Bucky turns around and leans back against the window to look at Sam for real. “I didn’t immediately tell you to put me back in because I trust you,” he explains. “I know you’re not gonna hurt me or betray me. But I can’t leave this room. I don’t know who’s out there. Even in here, I feel on edge. I can be awake right here, right now, because I know that I’m no less safe awake than asleep. But outside these four walls I’ll hurt people. I know I will. And I don’t want to do that anymore.”

Sam nods, his expression serious. There’s no more joking around now, no more banter to circumvent the issue. It’s better like this, Bucky knows, because they need to have this discussion, but he misses the easy familiarity already.

“Can I do anything to change that?” Sam asks, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as if he is already thinking of ways to help. “Other than defragging your brain, can I – or Steve – make it easier for you be around us, at least?”

“God, no. Especially not Steve,” Bucky says, aghast. “He’s a magnet for trouble. If I’m with him, it’ll just paint a target on his back. And if he’s unlucky, I’ll be the one to stab him right in the middle of it.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound good,” Sam agrees, folding his arms over his chest again. “How about just me, though? Not that you won’t see Steve, but what if you stay with me for a while? I’ve got a place right here, in central Wakanda. It’s very secret, and _very_ safe. No one will suspect a thing.” He chuckles. “Hell, we could even put a blow-up Bucky doll in the cryo pod here as diversion.”

Bucky can’t help but laugh at that. “Then I’ll have to spend all my waking hours with you, though, don’t know if I’m up for _that_.”

“Hey, I’m a very nice roommate!”

Bucky raises both his eyebrows, a skeptical smile on his face. “No way in hell am I sharing a _bedroom_ with you, Wilson.” They stare each other down for another second. Then, Bucky shakes his head again. “Sam… why do you care so much? Don’t get me wrong, you’re a swell guy, but I remember what I did to you back in DC. I don’t understand why you’d want me around in your _home_.”

“I’m not saying I’m not pissed about DC, but I’m not pissed at _you_. And as far as wanting you around… I agree that your brain needs a major cleanup, but I don’t think Steve should have let you go in that thing.” He gestures at the cryo pod. “It’s depressing.”

Bucky looks at the pod. While it’s much better than any of the ones Hydra had, with its clean white plastic and clear glass, he can’t disagree with what Sam is saying. Can’t deny that he hates it every time he can feel the cold seep into his bones. And _that_ is another problem. “I hate going under,” he mutters. “I can see myself in the glass. I don’t look _human_. I look like I’m dead.”

Sam is silent, probably waiting for Bucky to continue, but when Bucky meets his eyes, he can see that his words have shocked him.

He nervously combs a hand through his hair. It feels coarse and damaged from being frozen. “I _want_ to say yes, I actually do,” he decides finally. “But I’d never forgive myself if something happens that I could have just prevented by staying here. I wouldn’t exactly be moving in empty-handed. I’ve got a shitton of baggage, and I don’t think you’ll have the room to store it.”

“Hey.” Sam reaches out carefully, his fingertips just barely touching Bucky’s right forearm. Goosebumps immediately rise on his skin where Sam touches him, and Bucky jerks his arm back. It’s not unpleasant, being touched, but he’s also not sure how to react to such a caring gesture. Not when his body seems to have a mind of its own, at least.

“Sorry,” Sam says quickly, pulling back his hand.

Bucks shakes his head. “‘S fine,” he mutters.

“Listen, if you want to get out of here, we’ll make it work. T’Challa can oversee safety. We’ll make sure _no one_ knows.” Sam sounds so convinced, so full of hope, that Bucky finds himself nodding before he’s even ready to.

“On two conditions,” he says quickly, raising a finger to halt Sam before he can start celebrating. “First, I want to take the cryo pod, for safety. Second, I am not actually agreeing to move until you’ve got a complete plan and I’ve examined every little detail of it. This needs to be airtight.”

Sam nods once, resolute. “Done. I can’t promise it’ll be ready by next time, but I’ll put everything I’ve got into working this out.”

Bucky nods back, elated. His heart is hammering in his chest. He can’t believe he’s doing this. He’d chosen for safety, chosen to protect the world from him… chosen to protect himself from it. Now he’s throwing himself out into the fight again. Because some idiot wants to play board games with him. He smiles to himself at the realisation: he really _does_ pick the best friends.

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I adore comments! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, and how you experienced the new overall tone and direction of the story. (I promise not all the future chapters will be as angsty as this one :))
> 
> It's gonna take me a little longer to update as I have exams coming up, but rest assured that the next chapter is already planned out!


	4. One Cryogenic Chamber, One Prosthetic Arm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets another visit. This time, Sam is not alone, and it's not all fun and games anymore...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter continues the B&B tradition of being over half the word count of all the previous chapters combined... oops. Sorry, not sorry ;)
> 
> Please mind the added tags as well as upped rating. This chapter is rated T, but this story will eventually go up to an M rating. M rated bits will be skippable, should you not want to read that. New tags will be added as they become relevant.

The fourth time, Bucky isn’t even expecting anyone other than Sam anymore. Somehow, it isn’t until he’s already undone his straps that he notices the 240 pounds of grumpy blond super soldier looming over the side of his pod, arms crossed menacingly over his chest. Sam is standing on the other side of him, looking slightly less pissed off, but no less stubborn. Anyone other than Bucky would probably find the sight intimidating. As it is, he mostly feels amused.

“Mornin’, fellas,” Bucky drawls, cutting through the tension. He slaps Steve’s shoulder amicably – would do the same for Sam, had he had a second limb to do it with on his side. “You look chipper.”

“Sam wants to move you.” Steve’s voice could not be more sour if he was salivating lemon juice.

“Steve thinks you shouldn’t have a say in whether or not we wake you any longer.”

“ _Sam_ thinks you haven’t already _had_ your say. Such as for example when you asked to be put in cryo in the first place.”

“ _Steve_ thinks we should leave you here to rot.”

“ _Sam_ thinks—!”

“Bucky thinks you two should really shut the hell up, because he’s only just awake and is _not_ a marriage counsellor.”

Steve shoots Bucky his puppy eyes. Bucky is _very_ familiar with Steve’s puppy eyes. Groaning, he walks over to the table, where he’s spotted a bottle of water and a plate of food, presumably waiting for him. He’s not very hungry, given that he ate just a couple of hours ago – or, however long it has really been since Sam woke him to play _Battleship_.

Annoyingly, the cap is still screwed on the bottle this time, so he has to use his teeth to get it off. He can see Steve stepping closer, hands outstretched to help. Bucky ignores him and spits the bottle cap onto the floor, after which he gulps down the water. Cryo isn’t exactly gentle on his body’s moisture levels. Not that he’s about to complain about dry skin or anything.

“Buck, you chose this for your own safety,” Steve pleads with him, stepping forward, away from Sam. “That was a _good_ choice! I’ve been searching for a way to help you for the last half year. You can’t just give up on that. I know I can find something to take Hydra out of your head, I’m sure of it.”

Sam steps closer too, glaring at Steve. Bucky watches in amusement as the man tries to catch Steve’s stubborn eyes. “Come on, Steve, why can’t he have some fun while we search? He doesn’t _need_ to be frozen. He can just… stay somewhere safe.”

“He _was_ staying somewhere safe! And the UN took him prisoner!”

“And ‘ _he’_ is still right here.” Bucky hops onto the edge of the table, feeling slightly airheaded from having just woken up. He swings his legs back and forth to help his quickly warming blood circulate. “Has anyone thought of asking ‘him’ what he thinks? Just, you know, a friendly suggestion.”

“That’s why I’m here!” Sam grumbles under his breath.

Steve crosses his arms once more, defiantly puffing up his chest. “I was trying to respect your wishes of being left in cryo.”

“I know,” Bucky says, holding up his hand in a universal request for silence, before Sam can retort with another argument. “And thank you for that, but I don’t know if I still feel that way.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Anyone care to update me on the timeline here? I’m not sure if you realise, but for all I know Sam and I were playing _Battleship_ a few hours ago.”

“Sam helped me suss out some worrying Hydra activity in South America. It’s all been taken care of now.” Steve shifts on his feet, seeming nervous. “He told me he’d woken you up _again_ —” A glare at Sam, which Sam bravely doesn’t shrink back from. “—and that he thinks it best we move you somewhere different.”

“I believe the word I used was ‘nicer’.”

“Somewhere…” Steve sounds like the words are being pulled out along with his teeth. “ _Nicer_. Because clearly the palace of the Wakandan king is beneath us.” This time, Sam _does_ cringe under the weight of Steve’s glare. It brings a small smile to Bucky’s face.

“Steve,” Bucky starts, but then sighs, shaking his head. He waves for his friend to come closer. “Come here, you punk.” Steve marches to him, and Bucky unapologetically punches him in his upper arm.

“Hey!” Steve rubs at the spot indignantly. “What was that for?”

“For being a little shit.” Bucky briefly grins at him, but then his expression turns more serious. “This is something Sam and I discussed. I told him I'd be okay to move somewhere else if he could guarantee it'd be safe.”

“Which I can,” Sam chimes in from behind Steve. He steps closer to the table to look both of them in the eyes. “T’Challa agreed to personally oversee the whole process, as well as create several diversions on the day we move you.” He nods at Bucky. “Can’t get much better than the _king_ helping you out.”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest again (Bucky is sensing a theme), and looks thoroughly displeased. “Are you sure this is what you want, Buck? Not that I think you shouldn’t, but you said it yourself: everything they put inside your head is _still there_.”

Bucky combs a hand through his hair, pushing the locks away from his forehead. “You’re right, I did say that, but… Sam here made me realise something.” He shoots Sam a small, almost bashful smile. “I, eh… Hydra messed with my memories. To get me under control, they manipulated everything I thought I knew. Except the new memories.” He swallows and lets his eyes fall to the floor. “The Winter Soldier’s memories. I have all of them. They’re the _only_ ones I know are real. Everything else… I will probably never know for sure.”

Steve makes a nondescript pained noise from where he’s standing next to him. From the corner of his eyes, Bucky sees him unfold his arms and make an aborted move towards him, reaching out, but then freezing mid-air. Bucky looks up, and Steve retracts his hand, fingers slowly curling into a fist.

“But now I’m making _new memories_ ,” Bucky continues. “Good ones. For the last two years, the only thing I could do was survive, but now I think I have the option to _live_ , even if it’s only a little bit.” He licks his lips nervously. “I don’t want to throw away that opportunity. And I’m not giving up! I still want my head fixed, but if I can be awake and still be _safe_ … I think I should do it.” He hesitates, then adds, “For myself.”

Steve looks away abruptly, and Bucky can tell from the set of his shoulders as he curls in on himself that he is trying to hold back tears. “I can’t lose you, Buck,” he says, his voice right on the edge of cracking. “Not again.”

Before Bucky can react, Sam has stepped forward and put an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Steve,” he says softly. Bucky can see Sam’s fingers tighten as he squeezes Steve’s upper arm.

“‘M good, Sam.” Steve’s voice sounds strained, and it brings back a foggy memory of times when they were younger and Steve had had the flu. The corners of Bucky’s mouth quirk up just a little, even as there’s a twinge of pain in his chest. The memory feels real enough, however, to quickly replace the slight ache with a warmth he’d forgotten it was possible to feel. He gets to his feet and joins Sam, wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulders from the other side. He nudges at Steve’s leg with his knee.

“Hey,” Bucky says gently, once he’s gotten Steve’s attention. He smiles as he looks into his friend’s slightly reddened eyes. “This is a good thing. You won’t lose me. I’m gonna stay in Wakanda, where it’s safe. I’m still gonna wait until we’ve figured out how to get this crap out of my brain. That part of the plan hasn’t changed. I just don’t want to stay in cryo all the time anymore.”

Steve nods bravely and slowly pulls away from both of their embraces. Bucky takes the opportunity to ruffle his hand through Steve’s hair. A watery laugh bubbles up from Steve’s chest. “Bucky! Quit it!” he protests with a smile, batting his hand away. “I’m not 5’4” anymore.”

Sam is laughing quietly beside Bucky, visibly relieved at the break in tension, and no doubt taking great enjoyment in watching them interact.

Bucky smirks. “Thank God for that.”

Steve huffs and ducks his head for a moment, reaching up to stealthily dry his eyes. Bucky turns back to the table to give Steve some privacy, and sits down on the edge of it again. Sam follows him and does the same, hopping onto the tabletop right next to him.

“So do you want me to tell you the plan?” Sam asks, once Steve has collected himself and turned back to face them.

Bucky nods. “Go right ahead.”

 

* * *

 

As it is, their plan for moving him is fairly simple. T’Challa has paid regular visits to Sam’s Wakandan apartment over the previous weeks, setting up a precedent. Of course, he is always accompanied by his guards. Bucky is to masquerade as a guard to enter Sam’s home, and then stay behind while another guard, who lives in the same apartment building Sam does, takes his place on T’Challa’s return trip to the palace.

Bucky will have to pretend to be female, which turns out to be much less of a hassle than he’d expected. T’Challa is an expert engineer, and has created a mirage-like second skin that Bucky can put on to bend the light around him in such a way as to make him appear however he wants. As a member of the Dora Milaje, in this case, the Black Panther’s group of female personal bodyguards.

Bucky doesn’t entirely understand the science behind it, but he trusts he’ll be able to get into Sam’s apartment unnoticed. What he doesn’t yet trust, however, is how Sam plans to guarantee his safety once they’re there. Sam is being uncharacteristically squirrely about the subject, so he decides to ask about it directly.

“Listen, I think that’s something I’d rather show you than tell you,” Sam says, wringing his hands together nervously. Bucky shoots him a suspicious look, and notices Steve do the same. Strange. Does Steve not know of the contingency plan yet either?

Bucky nods tersely at Sam and smoothly slides off the edge of the table onto his feet. “Show me.”

For the first time since he’s gone into cryo, Bucky leaves the room. More accurately, he follows Sam out. Steve follows the both of them, exuding a menacing air of protective instinct. Bucky shoots him an amused look over his shoulder, but Steve simply sets his jaw in return.

Sam leads them to a workshop on the floor below the one Bucky had been staying on, where they are greeted by T’Challa and two members of his guard, who stay away from them, in the back of the room. Bucky and Steve shake hands with him, and Bucky looks around nervously once he steps away. The workshop is a large, open room, filled with a myriad of robotics. He’s glad that the majority of it looks to be made of brushed steel, clean and surgical, rather than the black metal Hydra had favoured. Nevertheless, being amidst all the unknown appliances makes his skin prickle uncomfortably.

Besides the robotics, there’s also a nearly overwhelming amount of holograms floating around the room, displaying all kinds of information in a language Bucky doesn’t recognise. It must be T’Challa’s native language, or otherwise perhaps a code known only to the Black Panther.

“It is good to see you awake and well, Bucky,” T’Challa says, drawing Bucky out of his head and back into the room. He notices that both Steve and Sam are looking at him with varying degrees of nervousness in their eyes. Sam, strangely, even more so than Steve.

“It’s good to be awake,” Bucky responds almost automatically. His voice sounds like pure gravel laced with doubt. Steve shoots Sam a look Bucky can’t quite read. It feels accusatory. Bucky squares his shoulders and clears his throat. “Thank you for the hospitality, and helping Sam plan my…” The word ‘release’ lingers on his tongue and he swallows it down forcefully. “...move.”

“I could hardly stand by and watch your government do you such an injustice,” T’Challa responds, his eyes speaking sympathy.

The corners of Bucky’s lips quirk up into a humourless smile. “Not like it’d be the first time.” Bitterly, he thinks back to SHIELD, to Hydra using him. To his missions and his wipes, indirectly funded by the government. He shakes his head lightly. “But thank you. For protecting Steve, too, and Sam.”

T’Challa nods at him, and then turns around to a nearby table. “I’ve made something for you.” Bucky follows him anxiously. He already has a pretty good idea of what to expect. No doubt, he’s in need of a new arm, and the workshop has made it pretty clear T’Challa has the engineering skills to provide him with one. He notices that Steve, too, follows them to the table, his brow furrowed into an expression of worry. Clearly, Sam is the only one who knows about this part of the plan. Bucky wonders why.

“I’ve made you a new prosthetic. It’s different from your old arm, lighter, for one, and more durable.” T’Challa holds the arm out on both his palms. It glints in the bright light of the room, the metal polished to perfection. It looks similar in design to Bucky’s old arm, with almost the same creases and curves, but the material is slightly darker and the star is missing from its shoulder.

“Is it… vibranium?” Bucky asks as he hesitantly reaches out to hold the prosthetic. His fingers stop dead an inch above the surface. He can’t bring himself to touch it. Not yet. Distantly, he wonders how much attaching it will hurt.

T’Challa chuckles softly and pulls the arm back. “No, we from Wakanda don’t just give vibranium out to anyone.” He sounds slightly amused, but also reproachful. Bucky realises he is being given the courtesy or someone ignorant of customs, or even good manners. He ducks his head.

“Of course. It’d be dangerous anyway. No stopping me if I’m one-fifth vibranium,” he apologises wistfully.

Sam clears his throat behind him, and both Bucky and Steve turn to face him. Sam’s arms are crossed in front of his chest almost defensively. There’s a nervousness in his eyes that sends a spark of nausea through Bucky. “About that…” Sam says cautiously. “We had to think of something that _would_ stop you.”

Bucky freezes. Then he steels himself and nods, because Sam is right, and he had _asked_ Sam to do this. Demanded it, even, if Sam wanted him to leave cryo at all. He didn’t just want to protect himself from Hydra, he also wanted to make sure everyone else was protected from him.

“Hold on a second,” Steve interrupts his thoughts, stepping forward towards Sam, his hands outstretched. He looks around the room from Sam, to T’Challa, to Bucky. His eyes are like burning ice. Cold, but furious. “What the hell do you think you’re talking about, Sam? _Stop_ him?”

“I asked him to,” Bucky says before anyone else can say a word. He meets Steve’s eyes dead on, knowing nothing short of immovable determination will convince Steve to go along with anything of this nature. “If I’m leaving cryo, I need to know it’s going to be safe. Not just for me, but for everyone.”

Steve’s jaw audibly clicks. Bucky doesn’t even blink, keeping his gaze laser-focussed on Steve as if to instill his own resolve inside him through his eyes alone. Eventually, Steve moves his head to study Sam and jerks his chin up, beckoning him to continue.

Bucky can see a bead of sweat roll down the side of Sam’s neck. He wonders what Sam’s next words will do to him. Sam wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, then shifts his weight and unfolds his arms, squaring his shoulders. “The new arm has a kill switch—”

“A kill switch.” Steve’s voice is like metal grinding against metal. For a second, Bucky thinks he’s going to throw up.

Sam steps forward quickly, his voice hysterically placating. “Not a _kill_ -kill switch.”

“A _kill switch_ ,” Steve repeats, his eyes dark and unforgiving.

“Steve—”

Steve grits his teeth together, Bucky winces at the unnatural crunching noise. “You want to give him. A fucking. Kill switch.”

Bucky takes a squeaky, controlled breath. Reminding himself that this is not Hydra performing a new kind of unspeakable torture on him, but rather his friends _helping_ him, is taking up almost all of his concentration. He swallows thickly. “Language, Cap,” he mumbles. Sam doesn’t seem to hear it – doesn’t have the super-hearing required to do so – but Steve is distracted by his words and shoots him a worried glance. The pause in Steve’s glaring gives Sam a chance to talk.

“It doesn’t actually _kill_ him!” Sam explains, his voice high-pitched and desperate.

Steve’s eyes flicker back to him, bloody murder written all over his face. It’s an unnerving look in Steve’s normally gentle eyes. Exasperatedly, he asks, “Then why the hell call it a kill switch?”

“Because a snooze switch sounds really lame?” Sam tries, and for some reason that breaks Bucky’s bubble of pain. He snorts out a laugh, and Steve jumps, looking around wildly until his eyes land on Bucky, who is now grinning with dark amusement.

“He’s got a point,” Bucky weighs in. He knows Steve knows him well enough to understand he’s not just talking about the naming, but also the fact that Bucky _does_ need a way to be stopped.

T’Challa, who’s stayed quiet until now, steps forward into their little circle. “It’s non-lethal, and not harmful in the long term,” he says, his voice patient and grounding as he addresses Steve. “I’ve installed a tranquiliser in the arm. Should the need arise, you and Sam can remotely activate it to render him unconscious. There is also a tracker as well as various other useful systems to find him and protect him until someone can get to him.”

“Only you and I can use it,” Sam adds as he looks at Steve pleadingly. “It’s totally safe. T’Challa encoded it all himself. It’s got some of the same remote access technology he uses for some of _his_ suit’s functions.”

Bucky observes quietly as Steve seems to slowly absorb the information. A tense silence hangs between the four of them (well, three of them, T’Challa seems eerily unconcerned about Steve’s apprehension). It finally dissipates when Steve gives Sam a single brusque nod. Bucky exhales softly, his breath a low hiss as it escapes his clenched teeth. It isn’t until now that he realises he’d been really worried Steve would disapprove, and he wouldn’t have his support to get out of cryo after all.

“So, the arm…” Bucky starts, glancing questioningly at T’Challa. “Is it— how are you gonna attach it?”

“It’s not a difficult procedure. Most of what’s left of your shoulder will have to be removed, and I will have to clean the connectors before I hook the arm up, but it was designed with the current setup in mind, so it should link seamlessly.”

“It won’t hurt,” Sam pipes up, somehow seeming to have guessed Bucky’s unvoiced distress – either that, or it’s just a stab in the dark. “T’Challa came up with a way to turn off the receptors while he works on it.”

“Redirect,” T’Challa corrects. “You won’t be numb, but you also won’t feel any pain. Just pressure.”

“It better not hurt,” Steve grumbles, glaring at the arm from where he’s standing. It’s not angry, however, just defiant. Bucky smiles as he looks at his friend, reminded of just how stubborn Steve can be.

He steps closer to Steve and punches his bicep good-naturedly with his hand. “Says the guy who wouldn’t stop fighting until I dragged him out of the alley, black eye and all.” He’s not sure where the teasing comes from, but the words feel warm as he says them. Familiar. “Suddenly afraid of a little hurt, Rogers?”

Steve stares at him for a second, seemingly baffled by Bucky’s change in mood, then he grins sheepishly, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks as he runs a hand through his hair. “I just don’t like my friends hurting. And I always had ‘em, anyway, you never really _needed_ to interfere.”

“Sure, you had ‘em on the ropes, every single time,” Bucky teases with a wink. Then, he sobers up. He places his hand carefully on Steve’s shoulder and squeezes. “Steve, I want to do this. And I really need you to be okay with it.”

Steve is silent for a moment, and Bucky sees him work his jaw as he thinks. “I am okay with it. I want you to be happy. And I know it’s important to have a... “ He glares at the arm again. “Contingency plan. I just don’t like that this is it, but… I don’t think I could come up with something better. I trust Sam, and I know myself. Neither of us would hurt you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. I just… wish it would never be necessary again.”

“It’s a plan C, Steve,” Sam says, stepping closer. Bucky lets go of Steve’s shoulder and takes a small step back to give Sam space to talk to Steve. “Plan A is we don’t let him get caught. Plan B is we kill whoever has got him before they can trigger him. This is plan C. I don’t intend to let Hydra – or anyone, for that matter – get close enough to make it necessary we use it.”

“Bucky will have our full protection,” T’Challa adds, smiling at Steve. “He will share Sam’s apartment in the same building where you have an apartment, too. As you know, this is where some of my most trusted live, and it’s highly secure.” He looks around the room to meet Sam and Bucky’s eyes in turn. “I invited you into my country to offer my protection. It is my duty to ensure nothing happens to you. I take that responsibility very seriously.”

“You know, for a dude who likes cats, you’re not so bad,” Sam says with a grin, and Bucky almost chokes on his saliva when he bursts out laughing.

T’Challa shoots Sam an unimpressed, but amused look. “Say that again _after_ I fix your bird costume.” Sam quietly zips his lips, and then grins again.

“So, when are we gonna do this?” Bucky interrupts the banter, nodding at his new arm on the table. The joy he’d felt before when he laughed at Sam’s comment quickly melts away as he looks at it. It’s not that he’s ungrateful to T’Challa, he recognises that having four functional limbs will be useful, but seeing the arm lying there is a painful reminder of everything that happened to make him lose his previous ones. Neither memory of that is good.  

“I have everything ready. If you want to do it now, I will send up guards to move your cryogenic chamber to Sam’s apartment,” T’Challa explains. “Then while they work on that, I can attach this arm and we can get moving.”

Bucky steels himself, sets his jaw, and nods determinedly. “Let’s do it.”

 

* * *

 

He gets to his feet and rolls his shoulder experimentally as he walks away from the table. He’d refused to sit in any of the chairs T’Challa had offered him, and insisted to just lean on the edge of a table for the entire procedure. It had helped, at least, because knowing that he was on his feet, free to move at any moment, had given him a peace of mind he hadn’t known for most of the past century.

“How does it feel?” T’Challa asks at the same time Steve blurts out, “Does it hurt?!”

Bucky stares down at his new left hand in amazement as he slowly moves the fingers, curling them inwards to his palm one by one, and then stretching them out again. There is no pain. None. He looks up at Steve, who is standing close to him, his whole body tensed like he’s ready to grab Bucky and run.

Bucky smiles at him, his eyes wide in wonder as he does so. “It feels good, no pain at all.” He looks over to T’Challa, who is still standing by the table, looking at him expectantly. “Thank you so much.” Bucky’s voice breaks halfway through the last word. “And you, too, Sam,” he adds, moving to nod at his newest friend. He glances around the room. It doesn’t seem so frightening anymore, even with all the mysterious technology. “All of you, thank you.”

Steve steps closer and wraps his arms tightly around Bucky, pulling him into a nearly crushing hug. Bucky returns the embrace and pats Steve’s back for a few seconds before they break apart. Steve shoots him a blinding smile. “I’m real happy for you, Buck.”

“I’m happy too,” Bucky says, finding that the words ring surprisingly true. He is happy, happy to be out of cryo, happy to see Steve again, happy to be surrounded by people he can trust.

Sam walks up to the two of them and puts a hand on each of their shoulders. “Ready to move, team Cap?”

“Definitely,” Steve says.

Bucky nods his agreement and looks down at his arm again. “Yeah,” he says softly, “I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! As always, please let me know your thoughts in a comment. They really keep me going. Thank you to everyone who has commented on earlier chapters :)
> 
> Concrit is very welcome, so please feel free to leave that as you feel fit :)


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